Chapter Thirteen: Sun Miaomiao

“Aunt Yang, give me five packs of every kind of seed that can be planted right now.” As soon as he entered the shop, Zhong Di called out generously. Seeds were always worth buying in bulk; even if he didn’t use them all, they could be saved for next year. Ordinary leafy vegetable seeds had a lifespan of two or three years, and could even sprout after four or five—though the germination rate would decline.

“Well, well, Zhong Di, it’s been a while since you were last here. Usually you buy seeds in spring—why are you buying some in summer this year?” The shop owner recognized him at once. In fact, she knew most of her regular customers; in this business, if you couldn’t remember your clients, you might as well not be doing it. Especially with seeds and agricultural supplies, once farmers found a shop they liked and trusted, they would keep coming back—even if the seeds here cost a bit more, they’d still prefer buying from her.

“I’m planning to plant a crop of autumn vegetables in the orchard to add a bit to my income,” Zhong Di replied straightforwardly, with no intention of hiding his plans.

“Let’s see, you must be graduating this year, right? Aren’t you looking for a job somewhere else? Why are you back to farming?” Aunt Yang’s question was typical of the older generation. To them, it made little sense for a college graduate to return home and work the land. After all, wasn’t the point of studying to get a good job and leave farming behind? Even those who farmed themselves often looked down on the idea.

“No, I’m not looking for a job. I plan to run the orchard—be my own boss, you could say.” Zhong Di had expected this question, not just from her, but from everyone. Still, he didn’t care. It was his life, and as long as he was happy, that was enough. Lately, he’d been working, feeding the chickens, playing with the dog—it all felt free and easy. If he could just raise his income, his days would be better than those city workers grinding out endless overtime.

“That’s not bad. But I’d suggest you buy more green radish and Qiamagu seeds. Once autumn comes, those sell really well around here. Add some carrot seeds too; as long as you can get a decent price, they’re all guaranteed profit.” She added, “The best thing is, these root vegetables are easy to manage, not much trouble, and store for a long time. For something like pak choi, you’d better plant it in batches—it grows fast but ages quickly.”

Aunt Yang’s advice was practical. In her line of work, being attuned to the market was essential: understanding demand and the scale of local growers, then stocking accordingly.

“Alright, I’ll take twenty packs each of the ones you suggested, and five packs each of the rest.”

Zhong Di thought it over and found her reasoning sound. Since he was running a pick-your-own operation, diversity was important, but he still needed certain varieties in bulk to ensure steady sales. Qiamagu was especially popular among ethnic minorities in the northwest, who had few vegetable options—this one was perfect for them. As for green radish, it was a winter staple, eaten in every household, and carrots stored well, too. Even if they didn’t sell right away, they’d keep—and they were essential for pilaf, so there was never any worry about selling out.

He paid for the seeds—nearly two thousand yuan—just as he got a call about the delivery of chicks, set to arrive in half an hour. That was exactly as he’d arranged: a courtesy call thirty minutes in advance. Glancing at the time, he saw it was already noon. He said goodbye to Aunt Yang and left.

He’d barely stepped out when he crossed paths with a striking young woman entering the seed shop. Her looks were in line with popular tastes—a solid seven or eight out of ten. Zhong Di found her familiar, but couldn’t place her, so he didn’t say anything and rode off on his electric tricycle. Better to keep quiet than risk an awkward mistake.

“Mom, was that one of our customers just now?” The girl, in her early twenties, watched Zhong Di leave before turning back.

“Yes, you’ve seen him before, just all grown up now,” Aunt Yang replied automatically, then caught herself and added sharply, “Sun Miao-miao, what are you up to?”

Aunt Yang’s guard went up at once. Her daughter was notorious for stirring up trouble—she didn’t want any more nonsense.

“Nothing, just curious. He looked pretty good, sunny and strong—not like the ones I know, who all act like softies.” Sun Miao-miao glanced again toward the departing tricycle, her interest clearly piqued.

“Don’t get ideas, I’ll never agree. A farmer’s life—what future is there in that? I don’t want you to suffer,” her mother said firmly. Still, she made a mental note to talk to her husband about this later. Their daughter was a handful, and he worried about her constantly.

“What am I thinking? You know me, I just like to look. Anyway, send me his contact details, or I’ll tell Dad you were drinking again last night,” Sun Miao-miao teased. “Besides, it’s not like I need money.”

Sun Miao-miao didn’t care what schemes her mother had—no one was going to stop her from admiring a handsome young man.

“Your money is still your father’s. I’ll send you his contact, but not a word about last night,” Aunt Yang relented. She didn’t want to imagine her husband’s reaction if he found out she’d been drinking again.

Meanwhile, Zhong Di arrived home to find a small truck parked outside, loaded with cages of chickens and several bags of feed. His plan was to raise them on grass and corn for a healthy, green product—the feed was just for the transition. Otherwise, any small problem could spell disaster.

“Why are you early? Weren’t we set for half an hour from now?” Zhong Di asked as he got off his tricycle, greeting the deliveryman.

“Well, the customer is always right—I couldn’t keep you waiting. Where do you want the chickens? There doesn’t seem to be much space in your yard,” Zhao, the deliveryman, replied, getting straight to the point.

“I’ll need your help taking them a bit further. I’m keeping them in the orchard.”

“No problem, just lead the way!” Zhao was easygoing, unbothered by the extra work—he was used to customers like this.

Zhong Di glanced at the closed gate, knowing his parents weren’t home, so he didn’t bother going inside, and set off for the orchard instead. His father was out of work, but who knew what he was up to today.

“You’re planning to do integrated farming in the orchard?” Zhao asked after they’d unloaded the chicks and settled the bill. He’d taken a quick look around and could see Zhong Di’s intentions from the setup.

“That’s right. I plan to expand, so I’ll be in touch—make sure to give me a good deal,” Zhong Di replied with a smile.

“Of course. Just message me anytime,” Zhao answered, then got in his truck and drove away.